


Holding on to Lifelines (Getting Lost at Sea)

by ohmygoshwhatascream



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Dementia, I have NEVER cried at one of my own fics, Implied Character Death, Jaskier gets old, M/M, literally its like 1AM and im fucking bawling, so much fucking angst, until now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:33:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22442635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmygoshwhatascream/pseuds/ohmygoshwhatascream
Summary: The human life is fleeting and Jaskier knows this all too well.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 36
Kudos: 193





	Holding on to Lifelines (Getting Lost at Sea)

**Author's Note:**

> I am so fucking sorry for this like there's probably a bunch of mistakes bc ngl I cried my eyes out trying to edit this and honestly I can't believe I wrote this. I wanted to write a cute Geraskier living on the coast fic but no this happened instead

The life of a human is fleeting, merely a gentle brush upon the earth. The things they do and the things they say are not permanent, they live and they die and eventually they will all be forgotten. That, no matter how cruel it may sound, is simply how it is.

Jaskier is not as young as he once was and his time is ever so steadily running out.

Sometimes he feels as though he is trapped in an hourglass, sand pouring down from the heavens, rising higher and higher and higher. It's heavy and smothering and there is no escape from it. No matter how hard he tries, no matter what he does, it will not stop rising.

He cups his hands, digging through the sand like a shovel, trying to get rid of it, move it somewhere else. But it trickles through the gaps of his fingers, it won't stay still and it won't stop rising.

He's so tired of trying to fight it. His bones creak when they once did not, his joints give him pains and (especially in the winter) he finds himself constantly fatigued, his body always aching and tired and simply  _ old. _

For that is what he is now,  _ old.  _

His hair went grey a long time ago, but he'd been fortunate enough that it had all stayed in his head. His family had always had good luck with hair, so even if he didn't think the grey suited him, at least he still  _ had  _ hair.

His skin is wrinkled now, deep creases around his eyes, woven stories of years spent smiling, years of joy and happiness and wonder, permanently etched into his skin for all to see. His hands are different too. His skin has gotten thinner, more translucent, with age. He can see the streaks of veins over his wrists, the crisscross patterns of pink and blue and purple, painted like watercolours over a pale canvas. 

His hearing isn't what it used to be and his eyesight keeps getting worse. He's supposed to wear glasses, but he's never liked them. He says they're uncomfortable, that they don't fit right; but really it's because he doesn't want to see. When he'd put them on, everything was clear. He could see it all. See each wrinkle and each line embedded in his skin, see how those around him had aged, people he remembered from long ago - children, now adults, starting families of their own.

He could see how Geralt hadn't changed a bit. He'd gotten more scars, more gashes and cuts and scratches that would never fully heal, but he hadn't aged a day.

Jaskier likes pretending that he hasn't, either.

But he's struggling to remember things now. At first, he can't quite remember where he left the book he was reading. He kept walking into rooms, then walking back out again. He would stop mid-speech, unsure with what he was going to say next. He'd forget what day it was and what time it was and dates like birthdays and anniversaries tended to slip through his mind like water, never able to just stay in one place.

But then one day, a few years back now, he had picked up his lute and realised he couldn't remember how to play.

He knew the notes, knew where his fingers should press and which strings he should strum, but he couldn't do it. It never sounded right, he could never get his fingers to move the way he wanted to.

Eventually, he just gave up completely. There wasn't a point to it anymore. He'd have to be content with just singing.

Geralt stayed with him though. Stayed by his side, through it all. When he got too old to go trapesing around the continent, Geralt bought them a house.

It was on the coastline, with windows facing out to the sea.

It was perfect and they had gone out to the beach, walked across the miles and miles of pearly sands. They'd sat under the night sky, a million constellations above their heads, and spoken about sweet nothings, yet somehow they conveyed everything that they needed to know.

But Jaskier had grown older and soon it was too much effort to go down to the beach. It hurt his legs too much, he couldn't walk for that long. The sea breeze made him cold and his skin felt tissue paper-thin, as if one gust of wind would blow him away, send him far out to sea; where he'd stay, slowly turning into mush until there was nothing left of him at all.

He gets older and older and his memory gets worse and worse. He can't remember his songs now and he doesn't sing anymore. It's too painful. It reminds him of what he once had, what he has now lost.

Yet still, Geralt remains by his side.

When he can't remember what day it is, can't remember where he is or what he's doing, Geralt is there. He's always there and Jaskier holds on to him like a lifeline. But his grip is weakening, he's so  _ tired _ of holding on, the storm is raging around him and all he wants to do is let go.

Geralt is the only tie he has to this world, now. Geralt becomes his reason for staying, his reason for living, even if the rest of his life has disappeared around him.

"I'm scared that one day I'll wake up and I won't know who you are anymore," Jaskier whispers one night. He's resting against Geralt, curled up in his arms, breathing ragged and deep and rattling in his ribcage. "I don't want to forget you. Don't let me forget you."

Geralt holds him tight, kisses him on his forehead. Jaskier's hands, weathered and old and gnarled, trembling in a way they never used to, rise to trace the familiar line of Geralt's cheekbone. It's wet and he can feel the tracks of tears, sliding down skin that hasn't changed one bit.

"I love you." He says, his voice shaking. "I love you and I'm sorry." There are tears running down his own face now. His voice cracks, wavers. "I'm sorry I can't be with you forever."

He closes his eyes. Geralt shakes next to him.

He breathes in, breathes out.

He lets go.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry 
> 
> also shout out to grammarly for just describing this fic as 'sad' like yeah pretty much sums it up


End file.
